


Drag Him Back

by Lost_Elf



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fisting, Angst, Bondage, Dark, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24059632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Elf/pseuds/Lost_Elf
Summary: Handsome Jack doesn't take well to his fiancé leaving him.*** Heed the tags, this is dark and fucked up. ***
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	Drag Him Back

**Author's Note:**

> I hate naming my works kill me pls.
> 
> This work sat in my drafts since the end of March, and it was called "x-noncony something.docx". I was never in shitty enough mood to finish it, but yaay, a shitty days has finally happened! The work was meant to be a little longer with a look to the future but I think I like this ending too. (I would like the other one better but this one _fits_ more, imo.)

Rhys was slowly waking up from a nap. Very slowly. The dizziness just didn’t want to leave him; not that he fought it. He felt pretty good, relaxed. Muttering something, he tried to shift on the soft bed, and not succeeding at all he went back to sleep, ignoring the failed attempt.

Sometime later, the world finally started reaching him. Physical sensations first – _hot… cold…_ Cold sensations on his chest and stomach – something wet, if he was to guess. The warmth was more abstract, coming from his groin. His cock was rock hard, resting on his naked stomach. Nothing unusual, probably. He masturbated before leaving for the meeting, but having a wood after waking up a few hours later couldn’t be called strange. Not with how insatiable Rhys often was.

Rhys usually didn’t sleep naked, though. And he didn’t remember going to bed. Or returning home after the meeting. Come to think about it, he didn’t remember much from the meeting, either.

Slightly whimpering, Rhys tried to rub his eyes and temples, but his arm didn’t obey. He frowned and sighed, for a while forgetting what he was on about as the softness of the mattress took most of his attention. Then he remembered. Yes, he was about to meet his ex-fiancé in the café where they would discuss some more details about their breakup. Rhys wanted his clothes and stuff back, and Jack finally stopped pretending that he doesn’t have time for that and agreed to meet him and settle it.

They met, Jack was very civil and polite. He shook Rhys’ hand and kissed his cheek, and then respected his personal space. He offered to pay for him, because Rhys still didn’t have a job. (He worked in that exact café when they met, and then the actor made him stop working and stay at home. He thought that it’s a luxury, at first, but then he learned that by staying at home Jack means _always_ staying at home. No friends, no grocery shopping, no leaving the house without Jack by his side.)

Jack brought their order – black coffee for Rhys, extra bitter to help him remain focused, and a mocha for Jack. And then… Then it was just a blurry mess. The more Rhys tried to think about it, the more awake he became. And that brought more weird sensations.

Pressure. A lot of pressure, a slight burn, but no pain. Maybe… A little pain in his abdomen, as if he were overstimulated, muscles straining for too long. And then the squelching wet sound…

Rhys finally opened his eyes. What he saw wasn’t the white ceiling of his new, too-small apartment. It was blurry, but after some blinking, he could make out the dark blue canopy that hung over his and Jack’s bed. He picked that one. But that would mean… “Ffffff-fuck,” he slurred.

“Later, pumpkin, I promise,” came an answer form an indistinct direction.

The voice of his ex was full of excitement. The fog in Rhys’ head made it sound like he was far away, but that was dissipating fast as adrenaline filled his body. Rhys tried to move again, tugging at his arm, legs, head, anything, but nothing moved.

“I wouldn’t do that, sugarplum,” Jack audibly smirked. “You know how good my knots are; those aren’t loosening no matter how much you struggle. And watch out for the collar. You might hurt your neck like this.”

Rhys’ body finally started responding, feeling, confirming everything Jack said. He felt silken ropes on his wrist, chest, ankles, thighs, a leather collar on his neck. He knew those well from all the kinky sex they had. (Even though it was mostly Jack who enjoyed it; Rhys was more of a vanilla guy. But he was needy, so he was willing to indulge _some_ of Jack’s kinks to get more sex.)

“Ya— _Jack_?” His voice was still not fully listening to him, but it was returning at least. “What—?”

“Still not catching up, dumdum? I see that you are just as stupid as I thought.”

Rhys gasped as pleasure suddenly spread from his belly to all of his body. He really should start paying attention to what’s happening to him. Grunting, he managed to raise his head just a little, the collar cutting into his neck but not too much. And he saw it.

A soundless scream left the young man’s lips, followed by dry heaving and choking. He closed his eyes, feeling tears stream down his face, and sobs tried to join the sounds he was making, but there wasn’t enough air in his lungs for all of that. The whole world spun for a moment, but he wasn’t lucky enough to pass out. He wanted to die on spot.

“Jack!” he cried, as if the older man would ever listen, as if he would save him from himself. The man didn’t say anything, probably still smiling while panic and disgust and fear overpowered the younger one.

“What have you—? What ha-have you done?!” he hiccupped, managing to take a few gulps of air just to choke them out in sobs. “Stop it, please. Stop it!”

“Now that I finally got my hand in? No way, sweet cheeks.” Jack was _chuckling_. As if this was a joke to him.

This situation was worse than a nightmare. Rhys wasn’t prepared for this. The most thrilling movie he ever watched was _Frozen_. He didn’t watch much porn besides some vanilla stuff. This horror thriller movie terror couldn’t be happening to him. “Stop it,” Rhys sobbed again, but Jack probably didn’t even hear him.

“You should see yourself, pumpkin,” the actor murmured. “So beautiful, tied up for me. Needy, young and desperate.”

“Jack, _stop!_ ”

“You were enjoying this just a minute ago, Rhysie,” Jack snickered, probably thinking that the younger man is just overly emotional, not taking him seriously. He never took his feeling seriously, but this was so over the line, it felt absurd!

“I don’t want this,” Rhys sobbed, forcing his eyes open once more to plead with Jack. Inevitably, he caught a glance of his body. The rope on his chest made a beautiful intricate pattern in red. Bondage was one of Jack’s things that he really liked, as a form of _art_ , but not now. His left arm was bound to the bed headboard, his legs folded and spread. His stomach and chest were covered in cum, probably both his and Jack’s, because there was just so much.

Rhys dry heaved again when he saw Jack’s fist entering and leaving his body over and over again. It shouldn’t be possible, it should be too much, he must be dead, because Jack’s fist is so fucking huge, but he is still there, being humiliated and used in his sleep like some _toy_. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, hoping that if he stares at it long enough it will either cease to be true or the universe will catch up with the absurdity of it and he will die.

“Beautiful,” Jack murmured again. “My original plan was to just fuck you, but then I noticed how loose you are. You were playing with the big toys again, weren’t you? So, I thought, you never allowed me to do this, so I allowed myself. The stuff I put in your coffee made you so relaxed it was easy.”

Jack was right that he wouldn’t be allowed to do this before, and it wouldn’t be possible. Rhys liked sex, even liked taking it up the ass, but he just wasn’t into things like _this_. He gave up on begging, only pitiful sobs and whimpers leaving his mouth now as he stared into the dark blue above him. His cock, thankfully, went almost soft, even though Jack mercilessly attacked his prostate, nudging it with his knuckles repeatedly.

Finally, the older man pulled his fist out completely. Rhys gagged and gasped again, pure disgust over the gaping, empty feeling, and pain of muscles that can’t constrict because they are stretched _too damn much_. Jack wiped his hand into a fluffy towel – he had everything prepared at hand – and walked around the bed to sit next to the bound man. He looked down at him, expression something between annoyance and boredom.

“You’re being emotional again,” he noted. “You’ll understand when you calm down. I’m doing this for us, Rhysie.” When his hands were clean, he placed them both on Rhys’ cheeks, gently cupping his face. Then he let the left one travel lower, past the collar.

Rhys shivered as warm fingers touched the scars on his shoulder. He used to love when Jack did this. The actor was never disgusted, never thought that he is incomplete or ugly. He loved the scars and his touches conveyed it. It calmed Rhys, even now, and he fought against the feeling lulling him into a false sense of safety with all his will, closing his eyes and reminding himself where he is.

“I know you’ll be angry for a while. But _I’m_ angry too. You thought you can just call the police and have them escort you _out of my life?_ ” Jack’s grip on his jaw tightened, and Rhys hissed. “I’ll punish you for that, but only after you realise what you did. When you finally learn to appreciate what you have and regret running away; when you come _begging_ me to punish you, to forgive you, only _then_ I’ll do it. An eye for an eye.” His right thumb moves a little higher and pulls at Rhys’ left eyelid.

The blood freezes in the young man, heart stops. He tries to shake his head, but Jack holds him too tight. Even when he lets go, leaving Rhys’ skin tingling where fingers were gripping too hard, he can’t move. The room seems too small and there is no oxygen, panic takes control of everything, shutting down his vision, his hearing, breathing, his _being_.

He is about to faint, he knows. With the last ounce of will he looks away from Jack’s face scrunched up by anger and out of the window. From the penthouse, he could always see almost all of the city. And somewhere down there, Vaughn is sitting in his car and waiting for Rhys to come out of the café. He will call the police, right? He will— He did— Why didn’t Vaughn see Jack dragging him out of the cafeteria?!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ElfWriting).


End file.
